Killing Her Softly
by Ameliapoand
Summary: A small collection of exerpts about Solas/the Inquisitor's relationship, and the unresolved physical nature of their connection. Why won't Solas reciprocate the Inquisitor's gestures?


They never slept together. At least… not in that way.

Which was perfectly fine, though Ellana did have her questions — blank spaces where she would like some answers to be implemented. But, answers, Ellana soon realized, was not something that Solas gave freely. It was as if each explanation pained him, as if the revelations which slipped through his lips were made of sludge, hot and thick and slow to move.

Whenever they did get close, Solas would pull away, just gently enough for the gesture to seem polite. Nearly everything Solas did was polite and courteous, all dressed up in beautiful words that in essence, always meant nothing.

But those words _were_ beautiful… and beautiful things were so very rare these days. Truth be told, Ellana couldn't always convince herself to care if his words were empty. Some days, the hollow gracefulness of his promises was all she could bear. They were empty, but light. As light as the dreams he favored over everything else.

Even her.

-x-

Solas's tongue was sweet and felt like silk in Ellana's mouth. He was never sloppy in his technique—mostly his kisses were soft and wanting, unable to give force to the way he flicked himself against her. Solas kissed with art in his lips, demonstrating his skill as a painter with each swirl of his tongue, pressing into the Inquisitor's own with a rhythm that oscillated between teasing and purposeful.

Ellana found herself wondering a number of times just how Solas had come to be such a gifted lover and how he was able to provoke such animalistic instincts within her just by touching their faces together. It was desire as she's never felt before; it was a desire not only of the body but of the soul, and Ellana constantly found herself wanting to drown inside him, to let his quietness obliterate her into pieces that would sink far into the crevices of Solas himself. There, in the most cracked parts of his bones, Ellana would finally be able to _see_ Solas. To feel him. To love the ghost that he was for all of the space and time that the Fade would allow.

But she couldn't.

-x-

Morning was a collage of frost and mist sticking to Skyhold's castle walls, crystallizing the air around it, transforming it into an ancient, crumbling fortress of an era lost to civilization. Stone dug into Ellana's shoulder blades as she and Solas crashed into the hallway by her bedroom door, scraping across her snowy flesh and causing her to growl, a soft, carnal noise that would have surprised her at any other point in time.

Their bodies were two rods of lightning that electrified each other, twisting their limbs and necks and fingers into knots of need. Solas's hands were bunched upon Ellana's waist, her stomach, clawing their way down her spine, an introduction of physicality before he hooked each palm against her rear and yanked her to him. Frissons of warmth exploded along her thighs, dissolving downward, blooming into an ache that she could not remedy with such simple contact.

"Solas," she breathed, fisting each hand into the cloth of his tunic. Solas bent his head, nudging her chin upwards so that he had access to her neck. He alternated between nipping, gently rolling her flesh in between his teeth and sucking, and Ellana groaned, a noise made not of pleasure but of sensory frustration. She wanted more. She always wanted more.

-x-

Evening, however, was a landscape constructed of black paper skies and jewels pressed into the horizon—pinpricks of light that spied on the creatures below. Watchful… observant. Ellana stalked Skyhold's grounds, trailing her hand along the garden flowers, allowing their pollen to paint her hand into slender bulbs of gold and porcelain that glowed in the lowlight of the castle's corridors.

The day had been stressful. Ellana could feel the stiffness in her muscles and rolled her joints in a useless attempt to loosen her body—realistically, no amount of stretching would ever truly relax the Inquisitor.

Ellana tread forward, stepping lightly. As she rounded the corner, an antechamber saturated with the smell of varnish opened up before her. Candlesticks flickered all across the circular room, creating flimsy shadows that rioted upon the wall's murals—images documenting the Inquisition's journey, crafted by expert hands.

As usual, Solas rested at his desk, an old, dark wood structure decorated with an excess of papers and twinkling objects that held some magical property or another. In his free time, Solas studied these things, though no one else truly knew what his research consisted of—at times, he provided the Inquisition with new knowledge of spirits and helpful tips that aid the soldiers in battle, but most of his hobbies remained a mystery to all and he remained the mysterious ghost that he was, haunting the darkest corridors of Skyhold. An untouchable phenomena.

"Solas."

The elf immediately lifted his gaze, tearing each gray iris from his work to Ellana as she sauntered over towards him in smooth strides. Looking into his eyes made her shiver, as though their eye contact transformed itself into a connection more intimate, more personal than the other moments they've shared. Solas's features were blank, smooth, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips as Ellana approached him, coming to stand behind the high, wooden chair he perched upon and leaning over his shoulder.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked, her high, clear voice ringing in the antechamber.

Solas exhaled long and slow, folding his pale hands in front of him and reclining backwards into Ellana's touch. She ran her fingers over his shoulders, pressing indents into the flare of his collarbones, and tilted her face low so that she could brush her mouth across the span of his jawline.

"I suppose that I hadn't noticed the hour," he replied. Solas perceptibly elongated his neck, exposing more of his skin for Ellana to have access to, and she moved accordingly, peppering his skin with butterfly kisses. "But, here you are reminding me, yet again."

Ellana smirked against his skin. "Yet again, as always."

Solas hummed, a deep, dark sound, and Ellana absorbed the chorus of vibrations stemming from the swell of his throat with her lips, as if starving for them. Her hands sank down his shoulders, onto the flat, solid span of his chest, and beside her own, Solas's cheek lifted and Ellana knew he was smiling the wicked grin that she loved so much—full to the brim with secrets and decorated with two dimples on either side of his face.

Hair like silver spilled over the Inquisitor's collarbones and suddenly lightning flashed inside the room, striking Ellana inside her skeleton and tightening it. She bit Solas on the neck, not bothering to blunt her teeth, and Solas let his head fall backwards entirely, colliding with the back of the chair with a soft _thump_ as Ellana worked at his ear, her hot breath tickling the sharpened edge of his cartilage. His breathing hitched, trapped in his lungs, and Ellana felt goosebumps ripple across her entire body at the sound of his want for her. _Finally_. A sign that her desires were reciprocated, that she wasn't alone in her need for the physical connection she craved so much.

She let that instinct blossom inside her chest, moving her hands downward, sliding them over Solas's abdomen and lightly brushing against the planes of his thighs, which—and she could feel this through the cloth of his trousers—were exceptionally warm. Warmer than the rest of his tight body.

Solas let out a breath, and it sounded like he whispered the Inquisitor's name. Ellana continued to work at his neck while teasing her hands across his hips, intermittently pressing down, until her fingertips glided over his groin, causing Solas to visibly tense, his next breath exiting his mouth in a low hiss. Blush exploded in her cheeks at the sound. Her own body responded similarly, blood boiling in her veins and muscles crushing each other with fresh adrenaline.

Ellana's heart was a war-drum and after closing her eyes, she trailed her hands over the hardened flesh straining against his pants, her consciousness so consumed with joy at their intimacy that she was soon fumbling at the waist-band of his trousers, hurriedly trying to undo the clothing at the top so that she could have further reach to Solas and reaffirm that despite his compulsive restraint, he _did_ want her, desire her, want to ravish her the way a man should ravish the woman he loves—

And then his hand gently circled her wrist, holding it firmly before pulling it off him, though as their contact dissipated, Ellana couldn't help but notice him shudder… which, regardless, did nothing to dull the punch to her gut.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, recoiling as smoothly as dignity allowed her to. Ellana straightened herself, every atom in her body atrophying with embarrassment, and stepped away from the back of Solas's chair as if the furniture itself was also rejecting her.

Solas rose as well, his features arranged politely as usual, but Ellana put even more distance between them as he shifted towards her, a single hand outstretched in a gesture of apology. The tension in the air was palpable, poisoning Ellana's throat, causing it to close together so that it was hard to breathe. She swallowed hard, eyes downcast, and folded her arms over her own chest as if to contain the heartbeat inside it.

"Ellana…"

Their eyes met, but Solas's face was so blurry, and it stung to look at him. Was she crying?

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice cracking under the stress her crumbling throat bestowed to her. "It won't happen again." And then she strode towards Solas, only to move past him, their clothes rustling together as quiet as the whisper of a ghost. The room was spinning.

Solas's expression dissolved into a mask of pain, though Ellana was already halfway out the antechamber door. "No, wait!," he called out, his voice echoing in the stone room. "Ellana!"

But she was gone, all the warmth and affection burned out of her by his disapproving grasp. She fled from that wing of the castle only to move towards her bedroom, tears washing the canvas of her face that felt too dirty—too ashamed to bear.

It was a wonder that no one else at Skyhold had woken to the sound of her heart breaking.


End file.
